Sick
by brosexual
Summary: We all need someone to take care of us sometimes.
1. Dave

**oops i accidentally more Striderfluff  
>had this idea in a car, after being at a korean resturaunt and then feeling like an absolute nightmare<br>thank gog for iPhone notepads  
><strong>  
><strong>Striders (c) Hussie<strong>

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><p>Dave Strider was sick. And not even ironically. Dave was legit sick and feeling like absolute shit.<p>

It was around two in the morning, Dave was sick, and Bro still hadn't come home.

He slowly got up from the bathroom floor, swaying lightly on his feet before steadying himself. He vision swam with blackness and he nearly fell back to the ground, grabbing onto the edge of the sink before he did. He stayed still for a moment to gather his bearings, then released his hold on the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He picked his shades off and set them gingerly on the counter, planning on washing his mouth and then going back to bed. Glancing up at his reflection, his face was red and blotchy and his eyes were redder and hazy. As he turned the sink on and water started to drip out, his stomach did another little flip, much as it had before.

His throat convulsed and suddenly he was back on the ground, face hidden in the toilet and hands clenching the seat of it. Whatever had been left in his stomach now hit the bottom of the bowl with a sickening splat, making him feel even worse. His forehead beaded with sweat, making strands of light hair stick to his face. Tears slipped past his clouded eyes and down his face and he felt hot and disgusting and utterly alone.

Trembling, he hiccupped and almost whimpered when a hand brushed against his shoulder. It trailed down his spine and settled in the small of his back, rubbing gentle little circles. The movement calmed him slightly, but his stomach continued to turn.

Dave stayed completely still –save for the subtle shaking-, face pressed against the cold porcelain of the toilet and hands splayed out under him. His mind filled with empty thoughts and questions that he couldn't very well concentrate on through the dark haze of sickness, but two things were clear to him, positive and negative.

The good thing, Bro had gotten home. He had gotten home and was in the rare occurrence of letting Dave know he actually cared, of letting his affection show.

The bad one…Bro had gotten home. He just had to have chosen this moment to come home and see him crying on the bathroom floor, puking out his insides. The very picture of uncool.

Something warm settled down beside him, fingers still rubbing his back. Another hand took hold of his and both were moved into a soft lap. Dave actually did whimper at this, feeling sick and confused and slightly conflicted. His face felt hot and he wanted to keep it pressed against the toilet, but his body was cold and he wanted it against the warm one beside him.

"Shh, s'alright little man," The hand from his back was removed and came up to brush sticky bangs out of his face, lingering on his cheek. The hand was cold and dry and Dave used his own –the one not being held captive in a lap- to reach up and grab it. He led it to his eyes, closing them and sweeping both hands across them. It was like a cool heaven to his heavy, burning lids and he kept the hands there, sighing quietly.

His stomach had finally begun to calm down. Dave swallowed thickly, wishing to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth. The deep voice spoke again, gentle and concerned.

"Are you alright?" Dave kept his eyes closed and tilted his head forward shakily. A soft breath sounded, right next to his ear.

He was pulled away from the toilet, oh so carefully, and placed into the man's lap. Immediately, he curled in it, arms coming up between their chests and clenching at the thin fabric of the other's shirt. He lowered his head into the crook between head and shoulder, pressing his face against the cool skin he found there. He tried to slow his breathing, matching it with the other .

Hands rose and tangled into his already messy hair, rubbing it in a way that soothed his pounding head.

"B-Bro," he finally managed to choke out, quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful moment.

"Shh, shhh. S'okay, you're okay." Words were breathed into his ear but he barely acknowledged them as so. His eyes were still heavy and hot, even as he kept them closed.

He must've missed when he was lifted, but now there was a slight bouncing that he experienced, letting him know he was being carried. He was shifted in his brother's arms.

"Where're we goin'?" Dave's voice was scratchy and slurred, from both his previous activity and his half-asleep state. Bro only shushed him again and Dave couldn't find it in him to argue. He closed his mouth and breathed in, letting the scent of leather and cologne and smoke cool his nerves.

After a moment, he was shifted again and instead of being upright, he found himself curled up on his side with something soft underneath him. A small, questioning noise made itself known from the back of his throat.

"Sleeping in here tonight," Bro explained, and there was a rustle of fabric as he pulled the covers up over the other. Then it was quiet and Dave frowned, reaching out to where he thought his brother would be. His fingers brushed against an arm (he assumed it was an arm, anyway) and closed around it.

"Stay," he mumbled and there was silence. Bro shuffled slightly and the younger Strider thought he wasn't going to comply. But then the mattress next to him compressed with the weight of another body and arms wrapped around him, pulling him back into Bro's chest.


	2. Bro

**important i guess: no longer ShaeTheFag. didnt suit me anymore v_v  
>unplanned, unrelated updates wooo. i think im gonna make one of these for alpha dirk, too.<br>also, working on a long, srs fic so expect that soonish maybe?**

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><p>If you had asked, you wouldn't have gotten an answer. Because fact of the matter was, Bro Strider didn't even know what the fuck just went down.<p>

It had been a normal day, a good (good?) day: he had checked his sites, filed orders, organized stats.

Hell, he'd even gone out of his way and ordered Chinese, a diversion from his usual diet of pizza. And the food hadn't even been for him, but for the kid (he was still considered a kid, right?), who Bro was _pretty _sure was just holed up in his room still.

So with nothing left to do, he catapulted himself over the back of the futon, landing (smoothly) on his ass and snatching up the controller from the table, all in the same span of a second.

He hit the power button on the remote, which in turn powered up the main console- whether it was a Playstation or an Xbox was lost on him. He had just gone out one day and when he came back, there it was in his arms, just waiting to be carefully installed next to a pile of smuppets.

A container of some sort of chicken was also with him, one he poked at rather unenthusiastically. Shit was nasty, but Dave always seemed to like it.

As his thumbs flicked out commands with the buttons, playing god knows what (seriously, what the fuck was this, his sprite was just running around with swords and dragons screaming at him and spouting fire all over the damn place), he didn't notice when his stomach gave a little lurch.

Or, he noticed, but he chose to disregard it. Wouldn't have meant anything anyway.

But then not even a minute later, it happened again, more forceful, demanding his attention. He made a face down at his lap –or, _would have,_ if he made faces, so really, he was just scowling to himself.

When the feeling didn't relent, even had the nerve to intensify, Bro figured he just needed to go piss or something.

He stood up.

And that is precisely around when shit went down.

One second he was standing there like the tough ass guardian he was, feeling peculiarly queasy and mouth watering (what the hell he_ just_ ate), and the neck he was in the kitchen, feeling for all that he was worth like he was losing his innards to the sink.

Which was correct, in a sense, because what was going in the sink would definitely be considered his innards. Just not the important, _attached _ones.

Bro's throat burned, his stomach burned, his eyes burned (just because of the acidic stench, he told himself, not because they were watering or anything), everythingeverything_everything _burned.

Not trusting himself to move just yet, he stayed slumped against the counter, experiencing all of it with an airy sort of manner.

He wasn't worried about himself, didn't even care in the slightest for himself. The only thought that had flickered through his head was _shits gonna clog up the sink cant afford that. _

And then, as quickly as it popped up, it transitioned into something more urgent, much more crucial to him then the bills.

_i cant get sick have to take care of dave have to be healthy for dave have to be strong for dave_

Everything was fuzzy, and he had to keep a tight grip on the sink _(why was the room spinning?)_, leaning over it, elbows splayed on top to support himself, chin pressed into the metal.

He noted with a detached type of fascination that fireworks covered in Brogunk exuded a pretty rad pattern.

Oh, and shitty Chinese food tasted better the first time, no matter the starting level of shittiness.

Just that thought made him nauseous all over again, so he squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head further down to press his mouth against the cool metal of the sink.

It didn't help, and soon enough, he was sending the rest of his stomach's inhabitants on a one way trip to the sink with a teary farewell.

Sometime during that emotional adieu, a tiny hand had settled on his leg, tugging at his jeans.

Slowly, the blonde lifted his gaze, then his head, and he looked down past the counter to find a little version of his sweet shades, darkened chips of red peering up at him.

Dave's mouth was turned down, his eyebrows furrowed. "Bro?"

God, his voice was so small, and beyond his façade (only seven years old and had a poker face like a world-known gambler), Bro could see the concern. He rested his forehead against the edge of the counter to watch him.

"'Sup, lil' man?" He was all but rasping, voice scratching against his throat, and the elder inwardly cringed at how terrible _(weak)_ he sounded.

Dave's grip on his pants tightened before he reached up for Bro's arm. Upon touching it, he pulled it down to his level –the other Strider wasn't stopping him _only _because he was interested in what he was doing, really- and took the much larger hand in his smaller one.

"Bro what's wrong." He would have chuckled at how the kid was speaking, taking no pauses and sounding so determined, but chuckling hurt so he didn't.

"Nothing," he replied then promptly turned back to the sink and oh, what do you know, there _was_ more shit in him.

After a moment of burning out his throat, dry heaving when nothing else came out, he coughed, trying to gather enough moisture in his mouth to spit. But that didn't really work and he was stuck with a thin trail of gross hanging from his lips.

He tried to bite back a sniffle (Bro Strider does _not _sniffle) and Dave tugged at his hand again, making a soft sound of surprise. "Then why are you crying?"

Bro blinked once, twice. "I'm n—" Three times, confused as to why his eyes were still stinging and his vision was blurring.

A drop of water dripped off the tip of his nose and Dave's incessant tugging increased, pulling the older out of the sink and down into a crouch.

Even then, he was just barely at eye level, but he used his free hand to reach up and brush away the tears and then wiped off Bro's mouth.

He rubbed whatever he got on his hand off on his heart shirt before replacing it at the elder's cheek.

He stared at him from behind his righteously awesome shades, red eyes visible and wide this close; Bro didn't doubt Dave could see his, too. He wondered what kind of a disaster he looked like.

The young Strider nodded at what he saw, patted Bro's cheek, and said in as serious a tone as a seven year old could muster, "That's okay. I'm not angry."

Bro blinked again, startled, suddenly trying that much harder to resist the stinging that prickled at his eyes, to beat back the heat threatening to wreak havoc across his face.

He sniffed, trying to swallow around the sudden obstruction in his throat, grimacing at the bitter taste. Unconsciously, he leaned his head into the dry, cool, chubby little hand and the other hand worked against his for a minute before their fingers were laced together. Bro wasn't about to deny that it felt…nice.

He closed his eyes for a minute, and when he opened them, the room was much brighter and his shades were in Dave's hand, the kid giving him a little smile.

"C'mon," it was more of a sound than a word, but it got the point across and Bro stood, the younger helpfully keeping him balanced.

He hadn't untangled their hands yet, and that's how Dave led them from the kitchen back into the living room, tossing the game controller off the futon and then pulling Bro over onto it.

Once the younger made sure he was settled, he went about and dutifully collected a pillow and blankets, scavenging them up from wherever he could find them.

Bro watched him, wary as he spread the blanket over him.

Then the kid was climbing onto the cushions and snuck under the throw, snuggling up to his sibling's chest and placing his hand back on his cheek.

Belatedly, Bro realized his little shades were gone too, and he was looking right into that red, red gaze (_had they always been that bright?)_.

Dave reached down to take his hand once more. "I'll stay here and protect you," he vowed solemnly, nodding as if he was making a promise to himself, too.

The older managed a little smile and rolled his eyes, ignoring how it made him dizzy again. "My knight in shining armor." His voice still sounded awful and hurt like a motherfucker, but he could deal with a little pain.

Dave smiled too, laughing a little. And before Bro even knew what had happened, the smaller blonde had stretched his neck forward, leaving a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth.

He pulled back, still smiling, and squirmed closer against him, tucking his head under Bro's chin; in return, the older blonde squeezed his hand just a little.

Neither said anything else, didn't have too.

And even though he woke up about two hours later to vomit in the bucket Dave brought (the kid staying faithfully at his side, rubbing his back), he couldn't remember a time he felt better.


End file.
